


Disorder

by 11dishwashers



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-05
Updated: 2017-04-05
Packaged: 2018-10-15 03:06:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10548998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/11dishwashers/pseuds/11dishwashers
Summary: Going back to 505.





	

XXX marks the spot. That's all they have these days- it's been 5 since Yixing left, and though he should be a better man by now, he just doesn't  _ feel _ it. The way things are makes such things impossible. He still flicks through pictures from the summer, not completely in a nostalgic haze, more to do with the swimsuits and the bare skin beneath duvets and his hand was probably on his cock when he took them. He tries to replicate the feeling, but nothing eases him out of the frustration.

And there's the matter of Zitao's bathroom, because it's cramped and smells like hairspray. Yixing can't focus with it, more often than not, and the whole thing- excluding his cock- becomes harder.

It's been 5 days, as mentioned, and it actually feels much  _ shorter  _ because he can't even let himself think straight, let alone about Lu Han, who's probably been running his mouth to Yifan. Has probably been crying, or drinking, or convincing himself Yixing never existed. Yixing hopes he doesn't cry- he always crumples when Lu Han cries, locks himself in the bathroom because everywhere else is just doors that open.   
And Yixing’s laugh used to squeak around the edges like it was covered in soap, but now that’s just how he sounds when his face is two feet deep into a pillow, Lu Han is never above him when this happens anymore. He wishes.

Sofas became beds. Beds became shelves. A roll of plaster, a bus ticket, once an old envelope- ‘ _ This shouldn’t be happening’  _ it had said across the front, and since it was in sloppy hanzi Yixing assumed it was Lu Han’s, wondered who it was for, why it was in- his- bed and not between some sofa cushions. That’s what Lu Han jams his fingers between as he sleeps, lying on his stomach. He only sleeps on the sofa because the double bed is too lonely for one person, because he’s shorter than Yixing and his feet don’t dangle over the edge. 

“ _ Come back,”  _ Yixing could say, but he doesn’t even want to.    
It’s lonelier when the space next to him is filled.    
He runs.

 

Zitao is the one to pity him, to offer a place to sleep while they sort things out. It won’t happen. Yixing doesn’t like to push, and Lu Han just doesn’t  _ like.  _ When Yixing imagines it, he imagines coming home to find Lu Han twisted in the sheets of the double bed, hands between his thighs. They clamp together when Yixing pulls the duvet away and he says something sweet or playful. Puts his hands around Yixing’s neck, who enjoys it.   
It’s fine. If they’re not broken, there’s nothing to fix. If they’re not apart by words, by agreement, there’s nothing more to be done. 

After all, there’s always Lu Han’s mouth in his dreams, Lu Han’s mouth that’s made for smirking and sucking and not saying “ _ This shouldn’t be happening.”  _   
Physically, they live together, but Yixing feels like the walls signify a whole lot. He wonders where it went wrong, thoughts to walls, walls to blocks, blocks to thoughts, sofas to beds, beds to shelves. 

 

It’s not like Lu Han’s his type. Yixing likes tall guys who have plenty of leg to wrap around his hips, plenty of bones to go around, all wrapped up in flesh against his- fingerbones around his neck that cut deep. He likes that. 

Lu Han is all wrapped up too, a figure in a figure, not enough space in his body for himself. He lashes out sometimes, frightening, bark as bad as the bite. Fingerbones around his neck.

 

But Yixing isn’t perfect. Maybe that’s why Lu Han stays, because it’s nice to have someone with different flaws than your own. Maybe that’s why there was a buzz- an ignition of sparks that made them both flinch away. They both drew the mark and said “we can pull through,” both too hopeful, and no one likes those they share flaws with. The love never left because Yixing still holds Lu Han up on a pedestal of his own flaws, just so he’s tall enough to see the crown of Yixing’s head. 

Lu Han didn’t cry often, but you could see the way it was, the way he snapped in four pieces and put one in the donation box known as their relationship- losing another one of himself on the way from the bedroom to the sofa. Sofas become beds. Beds become shelves. 

 

“ _ This is not happening,”  _ he had said when Yixing packed an overnight bag. Yixing didn’t know who he was talking to; they hadn’t managed it in a while. Yixing had more to say to his pillow than to Lu Han-  _ ‘Fuck, Lu, right there’ _ , and he would have to put his hands around his own neck. Fingerbones connected to the knuckles that gripped around a shopping bag.   
In the supermarket, he carried it, choosing between chocolate milk or strawberry when he saw a reflection in the fridge glass. It was Minseok, passing by just behind him, when Yixing turned Minseok didn’t spare him a glance. He wondered what he did wrong.  

  
  


What did he do wrong? What did either of them do wrong?   
Some things don’t work. Beds to fingerbones. Straight to voicemail. 

“ _ Lu Han here, sorry I’m away from my phone at the moment-” _

 

There’s nothing worse than leaving old food in the fridge that spreads mold everywhere else, and there’s nothing worse than leaving a relationship to rot in the apartment, there’s cross contamination in Yixing’s brain, mixing up his left and his right, left behind and right here. Zitao sits down in front of the television, on Lu Han’s sofa that became a bed, nowhere near it. Sofas become other sofas become other beds become other shelves. And it seems like the bed is still a shelf because he leaves every single thought on it. When he returns to it, there’s just Lu Han’s empty spot that keeps him company. It’s a single bed of a double. He wants those fingers around his neck, wants to see Lu Han with his hands between his thighs as the oxygen goes back to his brain. But that would mean.

 

And he’ll always go back to Lu Han in the end, because that’s where he has always been, a bit sick in the brain and a bit sick in his mouth and a bit sick out of the taxi window with the beer bottle by his side.    
When he gets there six days after he left, it’s much darker than his mind’s curfew and he’s disoriented. He needs it. He needs Lu Han to just let the oxygen rush back to his brain. 

And Lu Han lies on the sofa with his fingers jammed between the cushions, snoring lightly, his hair covers most of his face but what it doesn’t cover is beautiful. Yixing watches for a moment then goes back to his shelf, taking the duvet. He finds that piece of Lu Han on the walk from the bedroom to the bed, and puts it back into Lu Han’s hand before taking it, slipping down against the sofa’s side, duvet covering him.

Yixing falls asleep like that. There’s no oxygen in his brain, which is probably why he can’t think straight. Knuckles to fingerbones to other, daintier finger bones to knuckles to Lu Han.

When he wakes up without that comforting empty space, Lu Han says three words.

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> "This isn't happening."  
> follow me on twitter @11dishwashers for writing updates :)


End file.
